


What Pride Had Wrought

by Telabelas (telabelas)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Begging, Bittersweet, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fade Sex, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Last chapter tags, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Smut, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telabelas/pseuds/Telabelas
Summary: “Do you never think,” She speaks now, eyes on the floor, so slowly and quietly that he can barely hear her. “Of taking me to bed?”He almost laughs. He has thought of little else since the moment they met. He had thought for so long that such desires were gone from him, done and overdone in a misspent youth. That he had experienced every pleasure there was to enjoy from lovers, for he had taken many of them in his time.It was she who had proved him wrong. Again.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 14
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

It does not take him long to notice something has changed.

She does not request his presence so frequently, although she ventures out of Skyhold for increasingly long and perilous journeys. Even when it seems evident that he should accompany the party – when expertise in the fade is truly required – she has to be persuaded by more than one advisor to invite him.

Her eyes seem to find his less and less when they do cross paths. Gone are the long stares that they had exchanged in those early days, when interest had not yet reached intrigue. Now, when he catches her looking at him, she drops her eyes to the floor.

Her kisses are briefer too. He is relieved to find that she still steals them from him, in that impulsive and youthful fashion which had doomed him from the very start. In quiet corners of the rotunda, or hidden copses in the Emerald Graves, she captures his lips for hurried touches.

And then she leaves him again, punctuating her visits with strange, searching looks before she turns away.

When he first attempts to put these pieces together, he worries that he has been discovered. How such a thing could be possible, he does not know – he has been meticulous, as he is with all things, about covering his tracks. But his confidence in her unwavering curiosity, her careful thoughtfulness, is so unceasing that, if anyone were to be capable of seeing through his thinly veiled guise, he knows it would be her.

He is still worrying when she comes to find him that night. Her sudden visit does not quell his fears, rather it stokes them. She does not usually seek him out so late in the evening, when even Dorian has been coaxed away from the shelves of tomes by some bedfellow.

Something is different about her tonight – he notices it right away, because she is wearing her hair down. It occurs to him, as she quietly closes the door behind her, that he has never seen her without an intricate braid at her back. He has seen the plaits fray and loosen, sometimes beneath his own fingers, but never give way to free the wavy auburn locks he sees now.

She smiles, but it is not convincing. Her lips quiver – she is nervous.

He is comforted by this. As she approaches his desk, he sits straighter in his chair, the book on Tevinter history long forgotten.

“You are up late, _da’len_.” For days now he has peppered his words with these endearments, in an attempt to coax out her troubles.

“I couldn’t sleep, _hahren_.” And yet her breathy pronunciations of elven seem to have a greater impact on him than the other way around.

He stands, already heading for a nearby drawer. “I am sure we can find some way to remedy that – perhaps some-”

“Yes.” She interrupts him and it stops him in his tracks, because she never interrupts him. “I thought you might be able to help.”

“What can I do, _vhenan_?”

The bashful look that appears on her face only increases his desire for her. He has felt it for weeks now, marvelling at how his quiet respect has grown into something much more dangerous. He was foolish, he thinks, to ever assume that he would not fall so thoroughly for her.

But it is too late to do anything about it now.

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you for a while, Solas.”

He loves it when she uses his name.

“It never seemed like the right time.”

He tries to reply with patience – “Whatever has been bothering you, _vhenan_ , I am sure we can solve it.”

“You make it sound so simple.” She smiles, but her nerves are still hovering beneath this feeble veneer. She is finally meeting his gaze, at least. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding inelegant.”

His heart skips a beat as he steps toward her. “If that is the case, then say it inelegantly.”

She looks away again, a flush creeping across her fair face. He worries for a moment that he has gone too far, that she will lose her nerve and withdraw now forever. It would be better if she did, he knows this, but in the moment, he can think of nothing he should despise more.

“Do you never think,” She speaks now, eyes on the floor, so slowly and quietly that he can barely hear her. “Of taking me to bed?”

He almost laughs. He has thought of little else since the moment they met. He had thought for so long that such desires were gone from him, done and overdone in a misspent youth. That he had experienced every pleasure there was to enjoy from lovers, for he had taken many of them in his time.

It was she who had proved him wrong. Again.

“I did not know this troubled you so, _vhenan_.” He speaks with a smile. “I am sorry to have caused you so much concern.”

She frowns back at him, physically withdrawing in her moment of vulnerability. “That isn’t an answer.”

He closes the distance between them, fingers catching her chin to reclaim her gaze. He wants her eyes on him.

“I cannot think of anything I should like more.”

A new look on her face – desire, he thinks. Her eyes don’t leave his now, mouth slightly parted as her pupils dilate.

“Then, why have you never…” She cannot even finish the sentence.

“You have never taken anyone to your bed, _da’len._ ” It is not a question; he knows it as fact.

“N-not since the inquisition.”

“Or before.” He corrects her. “It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

She hesitates for just a moment, but then she nods. He feels himself harden – it is wrong, he knows, but there is something so intoxicating about the thought of being the first, _her_ first.

“I did not wish to hurry you.” It is half-true, like so many of the pretty lies that spill out of his mouth around her.

She looks at him with those round blue eyes. “Are you sure? Don’t lie to me, _hahren_.”

He does not need words to show her. When he kisses her, he tries to demonstrate that he can give what she seeks of him.

His fingers find her hair, brushing through the soft waves until, with a light tug, he forces her head back. Fervent kisses along her neck make her shudder beneath him and he is undone.

He kisses her against the wall now. As his tongue pries open her lips, he slides a leg between her thighs. When she moans into his mouth, he only presses against her with more fervour. He wants her to feel how impossibly hard she has made him.

In time, he remembers himself. With some difficulty, pulls away so he can delight in her flush cheeks and swollen lips. She is on the edge of being overwhelmed, he knows, and there are so many desperate and dangerous images flooding his own mind. He reaches for the restraint he has so prided himself upon.

“Tomorrow night.” He whispers the promise, drinking in her debauched expression. “I will come to your bed tomorrow. If you will have me.”

She nods, words escaping her for the moment. One last soft, tender kiss and she slips back out of the door, as quickly and quietly as she had entered.

Almost as soon as she is gone, he wonders if he has done the right thing.

His desire for her is evident. He has spent enough knights longing for her, dreaming of her. Finding ways to satiate his appetite for her. None of them satisfying, of course.

It was true, too, that he had trod lightly around her, careful not to push her into anything she had not seemed ready for. Indeed, he could live off her most chaste kisses for a lifetime, if need be.

But there was something, still, that remained. Something that had kept him from knocking on her door in the small hours of the night, when it felt like nothing he could accomplish alone would satisfy his desire for her. Something that still sat heavy on his heart, at the thought of taking her to bed.

The sense that afterwards he would be lost to her. Forever.

-

He has a plan when he makes his way to her room the next night. He cannot keep himself away, though admittedly he does not bother trying. But, if he is to succumb to his weakness, he decides, he may as well savour every moment of it.

When he knocks on the door, she sounds startled, but she tells him to come in. When he enters, she is standing, waiting for him, clad in a long, silk dressing gown, her hair falling around her shoulders.

He does not say a word – he is done with speaking now. They have spoken enough in the last few months. He pulls her into a hungry kiss, hands clenching folds of silk.

“ _Hahren_.” She breathes the word with such longing that it almost breaks him.

He strokes his thumb against her full bottom lip. She takes it in her mouth, brushes her tongue against it so that his knees go to buckle.

Their kissing is feral now – he’s desperately hard and he knows how easy it would be to simply take what he wants. She would let him fuck her, as feverishly and impatiently as his libido demanded, but even in the heat of his desperation for her, he knows that this is not what he truly desires.

With guiding hands on her hips, he directs her to the bed. She is reluctant to part their lips for even a moment, but with soft, persistent kisses she is persuaded.

When she is beneath him and he can see, hidden beneath her desire, nervousness, he kisses her more slowly. He wants to make this as pleasurable as possible for her. As effortless and languorous as the rest of their courtship. He plans to take his time.

Tonight is all about her.

“You must tell me to stop.” He whispers, trying to muster some seriousness, for this is important to him. “If you want me to stop at any moment, I will.”

She hesitates for a moment, then smiles.

“I know.”

Her hands reach for his face and she pulls him back down to her.

Her kisses are insistent now, begging him to show her what great pleasures await tonight. He replies with equal fervour, teasing her mouth open so that his tongue can slip inside. He savours every slight gasp and muffled moan; she is receptive, as he expected. These are all new feelings for her.

But she needs more, and he is willing to give it. He breaks the kiss and moves to her neck, kissing until he finds the spot which makes her pull him closer with endless sighs.

His hands are busy now too, pulling up the dressing gown so that it pools around her thighs. He presses himself between her legs, she moans as she feels his hardness against her. His cock strains against his cursed breeches.

He whispers elven adorations in her ears. She cannot understand every word and he is glad for it – he would not have her know, at least not yet, how easily she undoes him.

He reaches beneath the gown now, finding little else but soft skin. She has almost entirely undressed for him and he wonders, albeit briefly, how much she has thought about this. About what she would be wearing, how it would feel, how much she wants him.

When his hands rest on her silken undergarments, she arches her body towards him.

“Please.”

He needs no further encouragement.

He shows her where to put her legs, spreads them as he drops down her body and rests between her thighs. He kisses the soft skin there, trying to calm her quaking limbs.

When he kisses her through the silk, she is wet. The smell, the feeling of it beneath his lips is almost too much and he presses his mouth against her again and again. She groans and rolls her hips to meet him.

He cannot wait any longer now. With a light touch, he reaches for the hem and pulls the garment off her. Before she can worry for a moment about being bare before him, he delights in dragging his tongue across her wetness.

It is almost too much for her to bear, she squirms beneath him and pants out begging words. But she does not ask him to stop.

He goes slowly, at first, exploring every curve of sensitive skin. He finds a tempo that she enjoys, listens to her body and increases his pace as her hips demand more of him. He feels how wet she is becoming, how desperately she wants him. As she grows in confidence, she dictates the pace and grinds down on his tongue with wanton abandon.

It only makes him harder, but he tries to concentrate on the task at hand. There will be plenty of time for that later.

“Solas.” His name never sounded better on her lips – breathless and broken, she whines for more and he gives it. “Please, _please._ ”

She is close now, he feels the change in her and takes back control, focusing on that spot which drives her wild, relentless in this endeavour.

He can feel it rising within her, her hips lifting further from the bed, pressing down on his mouth harder, deeper, urging him on.

“Solas.” So close now, the word barely comes out. Her hands reach for his head, clutching at the skin at the back of his neck. “I’m coming, please, gods, I’m coming.”

She cries out his name again when she comes. Her whole body quakes beneath him in the wake of it, falling limp as he slows his pace until the shocks finish racking through her.

He has only just stopped when she pulls him up to her. He groans into the kiss – she wants to taste herself. He happily obliges, replying to the slow kiss with tongue and teeth. He pushes his hand between her legs, reminding himself with great delight at how wet he has made her.

She reaches for him, hands feathering against where his hardness yet persists. The simple touch almost sends him over the edge, but he catches her wrist.

“Later, _vhenan_.” He can barely get the words out.

She seems to accept this, albeit with some reluctance and kisses him again.

She falls asleep in his arms after too long. He is relieved. He does not want to rush this – wants to savour every act until she is desperate for the next.

As he lays there with her, he tries to burn the memory into his mind. He is reluctant to let sleep carry him off, where the fade can twist and distort such images. The real thing is so superior to anything he could conjure in sleep. And he knows he must treasure it, for as long as it is within his reach.


	2. Chapter 2

He is already dressed when she wakes in the morning. She seems slightly disappointed by this, but he knows how easily he could lose days in her bed. Lose himself even.

He has things to do. Messages from his emissaries awaiting response. And she has distracted him for long enough already.

He kisses her on the forehead.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, _vhenan_.”

She seems embarrassed, but she nods. “Must you go already?”

“Yes, Cassandra will have my head if she does not get her potions.” It was not entirely a lie.

He kisses her one last time and makes his escape.

-

It becomes routine. He comes to her room late at night, takes her to bed with feverish kisses. Although she tries to touch him, and by the gods he wants her to, he will not let her. Not yet. Not until she begs him – not until it becomes synonymous with her own pleasure.

Things always end up the same way – his tongue in her cunt. He never gets tired of it. Every night, she finds a new way to show him how much she loves it, craves it. He lets her fuck his face, grinding down on his tongue until she is satiated. He delights in her begging – the pretty ‘please’s and the breathy ‘don’t stop’s. And when she comes, she mewls his name so recklessly, crying out so that all of Skyhold might hear. He hopes they do.

On the night in question, things have gone much the same. When he enters her room, she drops her robe without ceremony, and he takes her in his arms.

He has learned every curve by now. Her bashful expressions are gone, when his hands run easily from her breasts down to her hips. She responds only with pleasure, with delectable sounds, and demanding touches of her own.

When they fall into the bed, he finds his place between her legs. She is already close when he tastes her, wet from their foreplay.

“Solas.”

He pauses to look up at her.

“Please, I want you inside me.”

If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. He rises back up her body to kiss her, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. A promise as much as a threat.

“Soon, _vhenan_. I want to savour every bit of you.”

She looks at him with such desire. She is not satisfied with this answer, she knows what she wants. She knows, too, how to get it from him.

She grasps his right hand, brings it to her mouth. Her lips close around his index finger, taking it down her throat. She drags her tongue along the side. And then she sucks.

“Please.” She begs prettily, when she releases him. His cock strains against unwanted and unnecessary fabric. “Your fingers, at least.”

When he captures her mouth with his own, she spreads her legs. Even that simple act drives him wild – the boldness of her welcome, asking him to do that which no one has done to her before. He thinks he will never tire of these simple gestures of her desire.

His hand finds a path between her legs. Tracing the delicate skin of her stomach, hips and thighs until he reaches her cunt. She moans when he touches her, a finger gently brushing against her clit. She pulls him closer, as his fingers dance down her anatomy.

He murmurs the quickest lubrication spell he can hum into the air. He can barely wait for its effects, before his finger teases her entrance, gently pressing into the wetness he finds there.

“ _Fenedhis_.” A breathless curse escapes her, but she’s already pressing her hips down to meet his careful touches. “Please, Solas, I need it.”

It’s all he needs to hear. He pushes a finger inside her, slowly, watching her every small reaction. But she is nowhere near as cautious as he is, and presses down until the digit is inside her.

They groan in unison. She’s impossibly hot and tight around him, growing wetter by the minute so that all he can think about is fucking her. About burying himself inside her, taking her with the desperate urgency she fills him with.

“More.” She is not satiated even now. He thrusts the finger out and then in again. Her breath catches in her throat.

“Does it feel good, _vhenan_?” The sight of her unravelling beneath him loosens his tongue. She nods. “Your cunt is so eager for my fingers.”

She moans in reply, meeting his thrusts with her hips. He can feel her tightening around him.

“Desperate for it, aren’t you? Desperate for my cock inside you.”

“I want it.” She splutters. “Please, I want it, I want _you_.”

“Not yet. Soon.”

She groans, in equal parts pleasure and frustration. He pushes another finger inside her, curving the digits so that her whole body arches towards him.

With his free hand, he touches her breasts – cupping, squeezing and pinching until he finds what she seems to like best. As she meets the rhythm of his fingers, he takes a perfectly rosy nipple in his mouth. Swirls his tongue around the periphery. Sucks, in a moment of sweet revenge.

Her cunt pulses around his fingers again. She is close now, looking up at him with desire-clouded eyes, mouth half-open in pleasure.

“Are you going to come for me, _vhenan_?” He whispers this in her ear. “Come with my fingers in your cunt?”

She can barely nod, so focused on meeting each thrust of his hand, burying the digits deeper each time.

“Tell me, _vhenan_. Tell me that you want to come.”

“Please,” She whines, grinding her pussy down on him. “Please, _hahren_ , I want to come. Want to come with you inside me. Your tongue. Your fingers. Your cock.”

She says the latter with such longing. He quickens the pace of his fingers, much to her delight. Presses kisses against her neck and whispers filthy things.

“Soon, _vhenan_. I will take you right here. Lick your pussy. Fuck you with my fingers. Fill your cunt with my cock.”

His words are too much for her. With one final thrust, she sinks down on his fingers with a throaty moan, cunt squeezing, pulsing around him as she rides through her orgasm.

She is still shaking slightly when he removes his fingers from her. He takes her in his arms. Covers her with the blanket. Kisses her forehead as a pliant smile blossoms across her flushed face.

Whispers lovely lies in her ear until she falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

He finds quickly that he is no longer in control. Having caught onto his tricks, she is already awake when he stirs. There’s no way to evade her this morning.

When he wakes, she is still undressed. Her bare body even more beautiful in the morning light – constellations of freckles against her fair, pale skin. When she notices him rousing, she kisses him.

It starts soft and slow, a gentle welcome into the waking world. As he comes into consciousness, she teases him into something altogether more playful, offering small swipes of her tongue and nips from her teeth. He smiles into the kiss as she pulls away, manoeuvring her body so that she straddles him. No chance of escape now.

But escape is the last thing on his mind.

“Good morning, _vhenan_.” He breathes, hands resting on her hips. Other parts of him are starting to stir too.

“Good morning, _hahren_.” Her voice is raw and husky from sleep. But she has no interest in talking. She is already leaning down to kiss him again.

As she does, he feels her hands come to rest against his growing hardness, still restrained beneath his breeches.

His cock responds almost immediately, growing to meet her fingers.

“I want to touch you.” She says, before he can speak, or move her hand away. “Please.”

She knows now how her words affect him. He has taken dirty talkers to bed before, but there is something so simple, so sincere about the way she begs for him. He finds it intoxicating – he needs more.

“What do you want, _vhenan_?”

“I want to suck your cock.”

He groans with desire as he pulls her into another kiss. He wants it. Bad. Wants to hear her talk more about his cock and what she wants to do with it. Wants to give in finally, bend her over and press himself inside her. Take her, like they both so desperately want.

But she has plans of her own, and he is willing to bend to her will today. There is something so heady and intoxicating about watching her take what she wants from him, innocence be damned.

And she has already decided how this will go. She undoes the buttons of his breeches, slipping her hand inside and touching him through his briefs. He presses himself into her palm, wants her to know how badly he needs her.

Her touches are cautious, at first. Careful, growing with insistence as she notices what makes the breath catch in his throat. She makes a quick study of him. She always has.

Her boldness grows, with a mischievous smile her fingers find their way beneath all the layers. She takes him in her hand and it feels good, too good. He bites down on his bottom lip as she strokes him. Even her simplest touches drive him wild.

She has a sense of urgency though and does not dwell for long. Before he can regain any sense of self-control, she is peeling the clothes from him, until he is also bare. Hungry eyes drinking in his own physique, which to him seems but a pitiful offering compared to her supple beauty.

It is she who finds a place between his legs now. Bending over so that her ass is in the air, perfectly round and soft with curves. He thinks he has never seen anything lewder in a single world he has stepped through, waking or dreaming.

Without any encouragement, she takes the tip of his cock in her mouth. Soft lips, gently taking him in, her tongue making small, experimental swipes. He cannot swallow his gasp, involuntarily arching into her, so that more of his cock slips inside her mouth.

She takes it, accommodates it all and swirls her tongue at the underside. He knows she is new at this and wants to make it as easy and as enjoyable as possible, but he so desperately wants to thrust inside her delicious, wet mouth.

After the moment of weakness, he controls himself, keeps his hips down on the bed and lets her take it in at her own pace. It’s a sight to behold.

She bobs up and down, slowly at first, picking up speed as she finds she can take more. She stops in delightful interludes to lick at the tip, tasting his pre-cum with that characteristic inquisitiveness. Her fingers, too, curl around his shaft and stroke what she cannot reach with her lips or tongue.

She pulls back, swollen lips covered with saliva. She looks at him as she takes a breath. Lips curving into the same, wicked smirk from before and he is lost.

She returns to his cock. Takes it deep. As far as she can push herself, gagging ever so slightly so that he cannot suppress a deep rumbling groan. She moans around his cock in reply. Vibrations meeting with soft lips and wet tongue. It sends him over the edge.

He comes in her mouth and she takes it, swallows it down. Looks up at him with such desire as he thrusts shallowly through the orgasm. As he stills, she hums around his softening cock.

When she releases him, she licks her lips – a feral look in her eyes. He is glad, for a moment, that she is inexperienced. He hopes she won’t notice that he came more quickly than is impressive to share. He tells himself it has been a long time. But secretly he thinks she could have driven even his younger, arrogant self to such wild pleasures.

She is satiated, for now, and after some kisses and embraces, he is free to return to his work. Despite his best efforts, he thinks of little else all day.


	4. Chapter 4

It is only a matter of time, he knows, until he cannot resist. Until he can no longer put off her begging, her insistent pleading when he fucks her with his tongue or his fingers, that she must have him – his cock – inside her. Until he can no longer ignore his own ravenous need for her, to feel her around him, to take her, fill her and claim her as his own.

But he waits, probably longer than he should. In part, because it is so easy to be distracted by other things. One evening, he takes her against the wall of a shadowed alcove, slipping fingers inside her, as her thighs quake. One morning, she sucks him off under his desk, her hot wet mouth on him, even as he can hear the others milling around upstairs.

But she is relentless in her pursuit for him. With each passing encounter, she grows bolder, her touches more certain, her words more explicit. It turns him on to know she wants it every bit as badly as he does. That she now understands, he thinks, the power she has over him.

She never asks about the bedfellows who came before her, though it is plain he has ample experience in giving women pleasure. Sometimes he wishes she would ask, only so that he can tell her how vastly superior she is to every other lover he has taken.

For this reason, he feels his self-control slipping from beneath him, and somehow he mourns its loss without ever really putting up a fight. He gave up long ago. Willingly surrendered to her desires and, more frighteningly, his own.

There is something different about her that night. It’s altogether more subtle than her first attempts at seducing him. It’s the way she leads him to the bed, asking him to sit with soft, feathery elven words.

It’s the look in her eyes – she has become a huntress and he her prey. When he thinks about it later, it seems to him that perhaps it was always that way, and he simply tricked himself into feeling as though he was the one to pursue her. After all, she had always managed to coax him into terrible, ill-advised decisions.

He is all hers tonight. He sits where she asks and waits as she comes to straddle him. When she kisses him, he is pliant beneath her, meeting each stroke of her tongue and gasping when she captures his bottom lip between her teeth.

She knows already that she has won. He is caught.

“I want you tonight.” She whispers it against the shell of his ear, hot breath caressing his neck.

She can feel him hardening through his breeches, can feel where the fabric protrudes to meet her silk-covered pussy. She rolls her hips against him ever so slightly and he cannot hold back a throaty groan.

His hands find her hips, fingers digging into her ass, as he shows her the rhythm he likes best. She adapts quickly, letting him guide her until they are both panting with desire.

“Please.” She whines – her silken undergarment already slick with her wetness. “Solas, I need your cock tonight.”

He needs it too. He can think of nothing else. Can think of no reason why they shouldn’t. His restraint is snapped – there’s no coming back.

With his hands on her ass, he gently lifts her, turns and lays her down on the bed. She is dishevelled, her hair loose and her skin tinged with the glistening of sweat. She spreads her legs.

He cannot refuse this call to arms. When he kisses her now, there is a sense of urgency he has not permitted himself to feel previously. He has been so focused on offering her carefully measured moments of pleasure, never too much, never too soon. But now what they both need is anything but moderate.

She is already trying to remove her panties, but he catches her wrist as it reaches the hem with the slightest snarl.

She doesn’t seem to mind his possessiveness, moaning against his mouth as his hands pin both her wrists back against the mattress. He doesn’t tell her she must keep them there – she knows.

Hurried kisses are pressed against her neck, as he removes what little clothing remains on the upper half of her body. His hands find her breasts, soft beneath his skin and sensitive to even the gentlest touch.

But she is already begging him to move his attentions lower. He obliges.

Like that very first night, he finds himself face-to-face with sodden silk underwear. Her desire has only grown for him, with each night they have spent together. Her body relaxing into his touches, so that with each passing encounter she has somehow seemed wetter and more desperate for him than he dared to hope would be possible.

He kisses her cunt through the fabric, drags his tongue up and and then down.

She mewls and arches her hips to meet his tongue, cursing the remaining fabric under her breath. He quickens his pace, but it is still not enough, and she groans in frustrated pleasure.

He smirks. His ministrations are deliberately lacking. He wants the first time she comes tonight to be with his cock inside her. He will accept nothing less; he has waited long enough.

Tender kisses to the inside of her thighs keep her appeased, as he removes the silk garment. She’s already so wet for him, pink and glistening in the candlelight. The very sight of her triggers a million other filthy visions.

For, he knows, after tonight, he will have her again. As many times as he can fit between now and the inevitable end. Once he has had a taste, he won’t be able to give her up, he knows this, and why would he deny himself any longer? He will have her in the rotunda, bent over his desk with his hand covering her mouth; and in the Emerald Graves where she so delighted in teasing him in hidden copses, he will fuck her against some ancient elven statue until she curses his name.

But he tries to keep himself present, he must savour every moment, for soon these will just be memories. And he knows, already, that he can never take another lover after her. They would all taste bitter, after the sweetness she has left in his mouth.

She is sweet under his tongue now – he brushes careful strokes on her clit, circles around it and dips into her entrance with slow, languid motions. It is different from before, when her hips would grind down on his face, forcing pussy against his tongue until she came. Tonight, he is preparing her for something more.

He stops only briefly to whisper some spell. By the time she has decoded the charm, she feels a lube-covered finger push against her entrance.

“Fuck.” She pushes her cunt down on his finger and all he can think is how good she will feel on his cock soon.

“Another one.” She pants, as his tongue finds her clit again. “Put another one inside me.”

He will not say ‘no’ to her tonight. He pushes a second finger inside her carefully, compensating with soft brushes of his tongue. She adjusts quickly, hips picking up speed as she rocks up and down on his fingers.

She is close to coming now, they both know it. He can feel how her body changes, tenses, just before she finds her release. He lifts his head from her cunt, still thrusting his fingers to meet her hips’ demanding pace, and kisses her again so she can taste herself.

“My cock will feel much bigger than this, _vhenan_.” He whispers, and she whimpers back.

“I want it. Fuck, Solas, I need it.”

“Tell me what you want.

“Your cock. I want your cock. Please.” Her eyes meet his in a final desperate plea. “Fuck me.”

He cannot wait any longer. He removes his fingers and sheds what remains of his clothes. He needs no preparation – the sight of her has made him harder than he thought possible. He inelegantly repeats the same spell from before, his cock glistening with lubricant.

He drags the tip of his cock from her clit, down to her entrance and back again. He slides himself between her lips, wet with her arousal, savouring every hitch and catch of her breath.

When the tip of his cock meets her entrance, she is begging him. Eyes wild, lips parted, legs quivering. Only then does he gently press into her, wanting her to feel how much bigger he is than his fingers. How much he will fill her.

Her replying gasp is delicious. Her eyes so filled with desire, for him, for his cock. He cannot believe that he is the first, the only, to see her unravelled like this.

When he is inside her, he starts with the intention of going slow, watching to see that she is not pained by him. But it feels too good, so tight and hot, her cunt already pulsating around him. He groans loudly, pressing himself deeper inside her until his hips meet her flesh.

“ _Vhenan._ ” It’s all he can muster as she tightens around him. Somehow, he hesitates like this for a moment, letting her adjust, until he feels her relax and give way to him.

He thrusts in slow, shallow movements. Her hands claw at his back, nails against his flesh and even that feels good.

“Gods, Solas,” She is overwhelmed now, he can hear it in her voice. “Please, more.”

He obeys her, thrusting deeper and faster. He can barely restrain himself from pounding into her senselessly, but he wants to make it last, wants to see her come before he gets his own release.

He takes her wrist, makes her fingers feather over her own clit and she takes the hint. In turn, he feels her cunt pulsate around him and it almost takes him over the edge.

“How many nights have you thought about this, _vhenan_?” His words are breathy and impulsive. “About me taking you, filling you.”

She simply nods, too lost in her own pleasure to form a proper reply. In a particularly long, deep thrust, he finds that angle which she likes best. She cries out, scratching at him and begging him to keep going. He couldn’t stop now if he tried.

“Are you going to come, _vhenan_? Come on my cock?” Gods, he wants to feel that. “Fuck, you were made for this. Made for me.”

These adorations send her over the edge. When she comes, it pulses through her in great waves. She cries out his name as her pussy tightens around his cock. He thinks he has never seen anything more beautiful.

But, even when the shocks are over, she looks at him with desire. She isn’t done yet – she wants to see him come.

Her legs wrap around him, pulling him closer with every thrust. She wants to feel him deep inside her. He wants it too.

“So good inside me.” She moans into his ear and he can barely think straight. “I love it, Solas, love your cock filling my cunt.”

Her words light a fire in him. He takes her now, like he does in his dreams, hard and fast, so the bed beneath them rocks with his every thrust.

“Please, Solas, I want to feel you cum. Want to feel you cum inside me.”

Gods, he wants that too. He shouldn’t. Some things are more permanent than memories. He can’t risk leaving too much of himself behind.

“Please, _please_. Come in me, Solas.” Whatever barrier he tries putting up comes crashing down with her words. “Make me yours.”

His release in sudden and intense. She moans with him, as she feels him shoot inside her, filling her. It is dripping out of her when he pulls out.

They collapse together, satiated and spent. Now he has given in to her, to himself, he is lost forever. But he regrets nothing – she is too important, too precious to him now, to regret anything except the fact that it must end.


	5. Chapter 5

He burns these memories into his mind. When the end comes and he goes to bed alone, far from her, he plays them out, relives them in the fade. It’s never enough. He wonders whether she does the same – whether she finds her fingers as unsatisfying a replacement as he does his hands.

He wonders if she ever tries to erase him by taking another to her bed. He knows more than one of her party who would be willing. The thought makes him bitter and sick, but he does not blame her. What he did was so much worse than simply leaving her bed – he could understand if she needed someone else to come heal those scars.

Sooner than he imagined, his memories lose their potency. He seeks them more and more often, in waking and in dreaming, as a source of comfort from his terrible present. He loses himself in the fade for hours at a time, pouring over recollections, trying to make them feel real.

When he finds himself needing more, the fade has much to offer. He knows how to walk its strange pathways. Knows it would be all too easy to stumble, quite accidentally, into the corners that belong to her.

He shouldn’t. This he knows too. Understands all too well the slippery slope – the danger she poses to him. To the path he has chosen.

But he has denied himself so much already. Torn himself from her side. Bid her farewell with the bitter truth. Surely he has sacrificed enough now, he thinks, to warrant himself this small semblance of comfort.

And so he stumbles, on a day when he feels bold and foolish in equal measure, into her dreams.

He only lingers for a moment, that first time, when he finds himself stepping into a fade-summoned Skyhold. He knows he should not be surprised that this is the haven she conjures for herself, but he is still overwhelmed. The solid grey stone beneath his feet, the buzz of idle chatter, the smell of herbs between healers’ fingers.

He barely takes a breath before he retreats, keels over in the privacy of his own dreams.

He is shaken for a few days. Half a breath in her consciousness felt like waking up again, after months of numbness in his own imaginings. Even without glancing upon her, he had felt her presence there. Closer than they have been for many a season.

And for this reason, he goes back again. And again after that. And so on until he starts to become used to it. Until he can walk the stone corridors, pace his painted rotunda, sneak into her empty chambers without feeling weak at the knees. Until he can no longer remember why he did not seek her dreams out sooner.

And then he stumbles on her.

That first time is painful. More so than he could ever have imagined.

He glimpses her only for a moment and from a distance, but it is too real. The emotions in him are still so raw, though it has been years since they last faced each other. The time in between seems black and white to the years of colour they shared before. All the bold, brilliant hues of emotion he felt then suddenly come rushing back.

He wakes. Lump in his throat. Stinging in his eyes. Curses on his tongue.

He spends a few days licking his wounds. Bemoaning his weakness in having sought her out. Cringing at the irony that he should chase her in the fade, when it is she who tirelessly and fruitlessly pursues him in the waking world.

But he is drawn back again. The pain of seeing her somehow hurting and healing in equal measure. Re-opening all the wounds he thought had been mended, cleaning them until they smart. Reminding him that, no matter how he runs, he cannot erase her completely.

And so he returns to her consciousness with an unnerving ease.

-

He tries to keep his distance. Watches her only from afar. Satisfies his curiosity by observing how her unconscious tries to unravel the mess he left behind.

Often, what he sees is unpleasant – dreams in which she replays the past to berate him, curse him, goad him into fights. Dreams that cycle through memories like turning pages, as she searches endlessly for a moment (if one ever existed) where she might have changed his mind. She never finds what she is looking for. She does not give herself that mercy, even in the fade.

These visions do not plague him so terribly as those in which she erases him altogether. She imagines worlds in which she never invited him to her bed, never coaxed him into impulsive kisses. Conjures memories, familiar scenes, in which he fades into the background, where he had once been at the forefront.

In time, he observes dreams where he disappears altogether. Observes her memories of events, leaving blank spaces where he should be. He wonders if these fantasies make her feel better. Worries sometimes that they do.

But alongside the forgotten faces and blank spaces, he is surprised to find that she still dreams of taking him to her bed.

She imagines a hundred reunions. Some of them drowned in tears, many of them charged with anger. Hurried encounters where she takes what she needs from him, commanding with brisk words until she is satiated. She sends him away again when she is done. Cries when he is gone.

But, more often than not, she remembers them as they were. Long nights in her chambers. Stolen moments in stony alcoves. Muffled encounters in their corners of the rotunda.

Stepping into her dreams becomes akin to stepping back in time. Her memories persist in a paused reality where they have time to linger in one another’s arms and whisper pretty words like ‘forever’ and ‘always’.

It is these dreams that begin to break him. It is not a simple, singular moment of weakness; it takes time. And he relishes every moment of it. Savours her memories until he visits them so often that they become his own. Get under his skin. Haunt his dreams. Plague his waking hours.

Still, it might have stayed a simple coping mechanism. One that she might never have known he indulged in. Harmful only to his pride.

But it was not to be.

On that day, he finds her in the rotunda, staring intently at his paintings – her nose almost close enough to press against the cold coloured stone. He is being careless, watching from above, hanging over a balcony. He stretches to see which fresco she is analysing, wonders what she gleans from it.

From above him, the sound of birds calling. Landing. In a split second, she looks up.

Their eyes meet.

And he forces himself away. Collapses in his own dreams, instead of trespassing in hers.

He is shaken. Angry at himself for being discovered. Bitter that he ever indulged his selfishness by pursuing these foolish visits.

He stays away from the fade for a few days. But that is an impossible bind – the fade is too integral to his very being. It is only inevitable that he should pass back into it eventually.

When he does, only then does he realise how his fade-stepping has become synonymous with seeing her. He cannot remember the last time he entered that world to do anything other than seek her out. Cannot make the pathways incline in any direction other than hers.

And so he goes back. Steps back into her consciousness, albeit with caution. Reinstating the distance he kept before.

But his presence, now noticed, has not been forgotten by her. He sees how wary she is, how she treads her own dreams in search of him, seeking out every darkened corner and pausing to listen to every unexpected sound.

It is much harder to evade her now – she is wont to turning suddenly, at the worst possible moment. Far too aware of her surroundings for him to pass through her dreams as easily as he did before.

It is only a matter of time until it happens again. She catches a glimpse of him across the courtyard. An accident.

She bursts in on him as he stands on her balcony deep in thought. A careless mistake.

He hesitates when she turns to find him in the great hall. A purposeful mishap.

And so their game goes.

Those first few times, she simply stares with wide-eyed wonder. He thinks, at first, that it must simply be the shock – the sudden confirmation of her suspicions. But then, he wonders, how much of it is the doe-eyed expression of fear. What must she think of him – the wolf stalking her dreams?

She soon overcomes her surprise, when she happens upon him. Now she reaches for him, lunges, cries out. Sudden displays of emotion that hurt him, scare him, so that he slips away and is left to wonder how she copes in his wake.

She learns quickly to stay quiet and still. To wait. No sudden movements. Just two strangers staring at one another across the fade. He stays longer that way. Comes closer each time.

He feels especially weak that day. And she is so silent and still when he emerges. Turns to face him as he steps from behind a tree in Skyhold’s gardens. Stands tall, with her head held high when she spots him. Waits for him to make his approach.

She looks just like she did back then. Slender torso embraced by her dark blue blouse. Golden seams glinting back at him in the sunlight. He peeled those garments off her countless times. Watched them fall to the floor.

His own form quickly adapts to match hers. In a half-second, he finds himself back in the plain swathes of beige, brown and green fabrics that he wore when she knew him. When he was just Solas.

He pauses in his progress when he is a few arms’ length from her. It is further than he has ever come to her before. Closer than is wise. And yet, still too far for his liking.

She remains un-moving, save for her eyes. Those wash over him, his clothes, his countenance. He wonders what she sees. If it lives up to the shadows of him she has conjured in the fade.

But she, he thinks, is a goddess besides those pale imitations he imagined for himself. Fairer in every sense – brighter, and more brilliant. Bolder, too, for now when she confronts him, bare faced in her bravery, she does so with full understanding of who he is. Who he was. Who he is becoming.

“Stay.” The words seem to tremble as they leave her lips. “Just a little longer.”

It is not the first time she has asked him. It will not be the last either. This was the sentiment behind all her words, he thinks, even when they were clothed in tones of anger, or spite, or bitterness.

But today her voice is bereft of all those things; stripped back, so that all that is left is the same terrible longing he feels within himself. The same desperation that induced the moments of madness which drew him to her. Flickers of ill-fated hope, in Haven and Skyhold and countless other places, that had persuaded him to risk everything.

“You know I cannot.” The words taste bitter as he says them, but they stumble out anyway. The first words he has uttered to her in this place.

The surprise of it passes through her eyes for a moment. She steels herself quickly. She has learned, he thinks with dismay, to hide more of herself since their time together. A necessity for her survival. A testament to the hurt he caused.

“Pretend.” Not a question, a command.

He smiles sadly at her. It seems a childish proposition, but not an unwelcome one. They are dressed in the right costumes. The quiet accompaniment of whispering voices and crackling fires was the familiar backdrop to their encounters before. It would be easy to give into the illusion - to act their parts again.

In his moment of hesitation, she paces towards him. Each step slow, waiting to see his reaction.

But he is too caught up in his own thoughts for now. Too busy trying to find the strength to slip away. To retreat. To run away again.

And then she suddenly seems impossibly close. Close enough that he could reach out and touch her.

But it is she who reaches out to him. Warm fingers seeking his own. Her soft skin brushing against the calloused palm of his hand. Her eyes find his.

“Please.” The word is bereft of her former steel veneer. It trembles on her lips and quivers in the air around them. “Come to bed?”

Her fingers curl insistently around his own. Firm in their grasp, warm against his rough skin. She holds him tight, knowing he might run at any moment.

But he is tired of running. And her proposition is too tempting. Too real – now that she is before him. Close enough to see every freckle on her face. Close enough to feel her hurried breaths against his cheek. Close enough to feel like no time has passed at all. That to pretend would not be to enact the past, but to be in the present.

So he kisses her.

_Fenedhis_. He cannot tell if the curse is hers or his. It is forgotten in a moment. Lost in the impossible softness of her lips against his own, the replying moan that hums from her mouth.

This gentleness cannot last. His impatience comes rushing back. His hands find her waist, the sensitive skin at the small of her back, and he pulls her to him, because he needs to feel her. All of her.

When they part for a breath, they are no longer in the gardens. He had been too caught up in her to see how the world shifted around them. Shadows and shades of green rising and falling, twisting and merging to form new shapes.

They stand in her quarters now. All cold stone and dark wood. Piles of books on her desk. Her beloved staff in the corner. Quiet, save for the odd familiar rumbling from below. Odourless, save for her favourite flowery perfume.

But her hands are already on him again. Fingers trying to pry the layers off him, peeling them away and casting them onto the floor. Eager to find what remains beneath.

He lets her, helps her between impatient kisses. Watches with wary eyes when her hands hesitate for a moment on his necklace. For a moment, it threatens to break the illusion of their make-believe. But she throws it aside with the rest.

She kisses him, pulls him towards her with her fingers clutching his thin vest. Leads him as she paces backwards, until her legs bump into the desk. His hands push books and papers aside between presses of their lips, so that she can sit on its surface.

His hands seek her garments now. Unbuttoning her blouse until he can push it off her shoulders, pausing so she can remove her breeches. But when she is almost entirely unclothed, her countenance suddenly changes. Eyes fail to meet his gaze. Hands keep him at bay.

He wonders if she has changed her mind, hesitates, tries to follow the inclination of her thoughts.

She has changed little since their parting, he thinks, possessing a few more bruises, scrapes and scars. He tries not to think about how many of them have been obtained in her pursuit of him.

And then he sees where her fingers brush against her skin. Tracing expanses that had once been covered. Marked with tattoos that had disappeared beneath his touch. It is the first time he has seen her naked without them.

He reaches to follow her fingers, touching the same areas that she hesitates on.

“You are so beautiful, _vhenan_.”

He said those words to her once before. Had meant them, though they were used to hide other truths. He means them now too.

She smiles. It does not quite reach her eyes. Hands beg him closer.

His touches mean more than his words ever can now. He accepts this. The loss of credibility is his own doing.

She tugs at his vest, impatient for what she needs. As he sheds it, she removes her undershirt. Pulls him in again, moans into his mouth at the feeling of his skin on hers.

“Gods, Solas.”

It is just a murmur, a hum between kisses, but it rips through him. Elicits a rumbling growl from his throat.

No one has called him by that name for so long. To his people, Solas was the costume and Fen’harel what lay beneath.

Only she knew the truth. Solas came first.

Her fingers trace the hard outline protruding from his trousers. He inhales sharply, head falling to rest on her shoulder. He presses barely-there kisses on her collar.

“How do you want me?” He can hear the grin in her voice as she taunts him, her hand reaching beneath the fabric now. She plays her part well. “On my knees? Against the wall? The bed, perhaps?”

Words evade him. It is so much easier to focus on the feeling of her soft fingers around his cock. Touches all too gentle and still somehow too much for him to handle.

She chuckles and he feels the hot puffs of air against his ear.

“Here.” He snarls, pressing kisses against her neck. “Now.”

He lays her down. Hands guiding with soft touches, parting her legs so he can remove what remains of her undergarments. Fingers tracing the wetness he finds there so that she shudders beneath him.

“So wet for me, _vhenan._ ”

She moans a muffled reply, hips rolling to press down on the gentle touch of his fingers.

With a wicked smirk, he lowers to his knees. Settles between her legs.

When he tastes her for the first time, her whole body arches off the desk. She moans without shame, begs him with breathless words.

“Please, Solas.”

She notices quickly how he loves hearing his name from her lips. He rewards her pretty moans with teasing licks, pressing his tongue against her swollen clit until she is writhing beneath his touch.

Her hands scramble to find his, intertwining their fingers between shaky breaths.

“ _Fenedhis_.” The curse catches in her throat like a sob. “So good.”

His touches grow more insistent, focusing pressure on the places that make her cry out. Remembering the tempos that used to drive her mad.

“Solas.” She sighs his name, exhales it from her very soul.

Her fingers squeeze his. Her legs tense. He quickens his pace, feeling how she melts against his mouth.

She cries out his name when she comes. Covers her eyes with shaking hands. Grinds herself against his tongue until the waves of pleasure subside.

She is still shaking when he rises to his feet. Red-faced, but holding back tears. Before he can speak, she pulls him into a kiss.

“ _Vhenan_.” He mutters the word against her lips, but she interrupts him with more kisses. Her warm fingers curl around his cock.

“No.” She is firm, though her voice quakes. “I need this."

He has no reply.

“No one else makes me feel this way.”

“Have there been others?”

“Yes.” She looks him in the eye when she says it. “But none like you.”

He kisses her. Fierce as he leans over her lithe form. Fingers digging into her thighs. Tongue pressing between her lips.

She submits. Moans into his mouth. Spreads her legs.

“Mine.” He growls the word between kisses. It is foolish and base of him. Borne of notions that he has rejected all his life. Presumptuous, given how he has hurt her.

She does not seem to care and, in the moment, neither does he. All he can think is that he must show her, remind her, how their bodies fit together. How good he can make her feel.

Her hand is still around his cock, she guides it to her entrance. Groans as she feels him start to enter her.

He presses into her slowly, trying to make the moment last. The impossible hot, wetness around him. The sight of her fair, flushed face beneath him.

But she is impatient. Arches her back to take him deeper, presses down on him until he is inside her.

“Show me.” And still her words goad him, sighing from beneath half-lidded eyes. “Who I belong to.”

He fucks her. Hard and fast, like she needs. Drinking in every small moan that leaves her mouth. Praying to gods he doesn’t believe in that he won’t come too soon.

“ _Fenedhis_ , Solas.” She seems close, though she has not touched herself. “Your cock. Feels so good.”

“No one else,” He manages between groans of his own. “Can have you.”

She curses under her breath, as he thrusts into her.

“Mine.”

She nods, almost hysterical in her ecstasy.

“Say it.”

“Yours.” It comes out as a whine. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”

He groans, picking up his pace, hands on her hips so he can find the angle he’s looking for.

She curses when he finds it. “I’m going to come, fuck, Solas. Going to come on your cock.”

“Come.” His command is breathless.

It rips through her. Pulsates through her whole body. Elicits a cry from her lips that fills the room.

He slows as she rides out her orgasm. Watches her haggard breathing, waits for her eyes to meet his.

They do. She reaches out for him. Arms around his neck. Warm breasts pressing against his chest.

“Don’t stop.” She whispers in his ear, lips against tender skin. “Please.”

He groans as he picks up his pace again. Hands holding her closer still.

“Fuck, Solas.” Her sighs drive him wild. “Need this. Need you.”

“ _Vhenan_.” He hisses, close now.

“Take me.” He feels her cunt squeezing around him. “Make me yours.”

He comes, groaning her name between curses and sighs. He thrusts through his orgasm. Feels how he fills her. Tries to savour the moment.

He wants this to last forever.

She winces as he pulls out, her breathing still erratic. She sits back, releasing him from her grasp.

He holds himself up with unsteady arms against the desk. Legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. Tries to catch his breath.

“You should go.”

Her words take him a few moments to register. By the time he does, she is already getting up from the desk. Picking up her clothes.

She shrugs at his replying pained glance.

“You said you couldn’t stay.”

“I shouldn’t.” He confesses.

“You won’t.”

“I wish I could.”

Another shrug. She turns her back.

“I’ll come back.”

“You shouldn’t.” She reminds him.

“I want to.”

She sighs and turns to face him again. She is tired of this game.

“Where does this lead?” Her question reaches the heart of things, as usual. It is the question he knows he should be asking himself, but there is no simple answer.

He reaches out, pulls her into his arms. She is stiff for a moment, before she relaxes into his touch.

“I miss you.” She breathes against his neck.

He holds her tighter. Can barely let himself say the words, because if he says them then they are somehow truer.

“And I you.”

He holds her for a few moments more before he slips away. She must feel him start to drift, he thinks, even as he fades. Slipping through her fingers.

He wakes. Cold sweat against his back. Heart racing. Eyes pricked with tears.

He wipes them away. Wonders, not for the first time, if he has done the right thing. Realises, for the first time, that he does not really care anymore.

He closes his eyes again, pulls the blankets around him. Indulges himself in more memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end, thank you. I wrote this fic on a whim, as a break from my writing my novel. It became a more involved distraction than I expected, but your kind comments have put the wind back in my sails. Thanks for all the love.


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